


Here, there be Arrogant Bastards

by coconutcranberries (orphan_account)



Series: The Life Of A Beacon Keeper [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Derek is a Prince, Humor, Light-Hearted, Multi, Royalty, Stiles is Not Impressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/coconutcranberries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a Beacon Keeper with an exceedingly dull life, until Prince Hale arrests him. Then things start getting interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here, there be Arrogant Bastards

**Author's Note:**

> Uh. Be proud of me, I guess, because I wrote this despite the giant crack on my laptop screen. 
> 
> This is for Kickasscookieeater. She is fantastic, and does not need a brilliant chemistry grade to be badass, so. 
> 
> No warnings needed :) Please leave as many comments and kudos as you like ;) Thanks! Happy Reading :)

The life of a Beacon Keeper was nothing to brag about. Stiles spent most of his shifts propped up against one of the pillars supporting the bowl, his feet against the hay bale and his nose in one of Deaton’s latest books. There was a loose stone beneath his seat on the floor, which, when pried apart, lifted free to reveal a vast amount of food and supplies. 

He was perched on that very same stone when he heard voices echoing up from beneath him. The Tower had multiple levels, each in various states of disarray. Judging by the volume, these people were on the last floor before the broken stairwell, which would lead them right to the Beacon. Where Stiles was sitting. Alone. 

Nobody ever came near the Tower. 

Stiles jumped up immediately, swiftly throwing his things underneath the stone and securing it in place. He crouched low in the shadow of the pillar, careful not to get too close to the edge of the Tower. There were no walls to keep him from falling, just crumbling pillars and a long, spectacularly horrible drop. 

Stiles cocked his head to the side, trying to pick out individual voices. He could catch snatches of conversation, low murmurs that all of a sudden became clear. 

“This is a ridiculous idea.” That gruff voice was decidedly male, although much softer than most men. Whoever he was, he sounded put out.

“Don’t be silly, Der. This is just a bit of fun. Heavens knows we don’t get enough of that anymore!” The other voice chimed in. Her voice grated on Stiles’ ears, nasally and girlish, with a little giggle to finish off her sentence. Stiles shuddered and grimaced. 

“I know we spend less time together now,” The man started to say, sounding awkward and uncomfortable. Stiles stifled a snigger. “But I have more responsibilities. I cannot ignore my duties.” 

They got closer and closer, bickering continually as they climbed the stairwell. Stiles braced himself. They sounded pretty normal, and they hadn’t been discussing any nefarious plans that would likely end with Stiles tumbling over the edge of the Tower, and yet one couldn’t be too careful. The hills outside of the Kingdom were swarming with raiders, and there were more monster sightings lately than even Stiles’ Dad had heard of in his lifetime. And as Stiles liked to remind him, his Dad was old now, practically ancient. 

Reaching carefully into his belt, Stiles unhooked a dagger from its sheath. It wasn’t much, forged in the Crook but, the blade was comfortable in his hands and when he twirled it between his fingers, it was perfectly balanced. It made Stiles feel a little safer, even though he wasn’t sure he could ever be brave enough to use it. 

Two faces popped into view, one female, framed with long dark curls, and one male, set in a scowl. 

“See!” The woman said, triumphant. “I told you it would be fine. There are no responsibilities up here to take up all of your time.” She giggled again, and it was disturbing to hear such a girlish thing from an almost grown woman. 

Stiles stood up properly, stepping out of the shadows. He felt a bit ridiculous indulging in such dramatic tendencies, but a large part of him cackled gleefully when the woman screeched and toppled backwards. The man flung out an arm to catch her, setting her upright with a shocked look on his otherwise intimidating face. The woman sent him a soppy look, and Stiles made a face. 

“Hey there.” Stiles said pleasantly, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “What the hell are you doing up here?”

The woman bristled, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. “I don’t think that’s any of your concern. Besides, it’s not a crime to climb a bunch of crumbling rocks.” 

“No need to be rude.” Stiles said, slightly defensively. The Tower wasn’t great, and at best it was a little dangerous, but this was still his job, after all. “It’s just that you are not supposed to be up here. No one is.” 

“If that’s the case,” The man said slowly, interrupting the woman. She pouted, but stayed quiet. “Then why are you here?” 

“Exactly,” The woman screeched triumphantly, gesturing a gloved hand at Stiles. Stiles raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. 

“Do you not see the giant hay bale taking up most of the Tower Roof? Anyone with eyes should be able to notice it, even you.” Stiles added quietly, although not quietly enough. The woman heard him, and her face turned an unattractive shade of red. She didn’t even have the decency to match her crimson dress, which was obviously expensive. 

“You have no right-” She began, before breaking off, apparently speechless. She almost looked like she might explode, and Stiles eyed her warily. There were only a few other Beacon Keepers, and Stiles had the majority of the shifts; he didn’t want to spend them cleaning spoilt woman off of the pillars. 

After a moment, she found her words, and a smirk. “Derek,” She snapped. “Arrest him.” 

The man, Derek, raised his own eyebrow, looking bored. “On what charges? Leave him alone, Jen, he’s not done anything wrong.” 

“Look at him.” Jen hissed, outraged. “He’s dressed like a common thief, and he disrespected me.” 

“Hey!” Stiles cried indignantly. “These are brand new.” He gestured to his trousers, which were a gift from Lydia. Lydia was not one to settle for common clothes, and after weeks of pestering Stiles into buying finer clothing, she had eventually just started buying it for him. She had even gone so far as to hide his shabbier work clothes. Stiles had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing them again for a while. She had probably burned them; Lydia was ruthless like that. 

Unfortunately, his gesture drew attention to the knife in his hand, and Stiles winced as Jen’s eyes gleamed with something vicious. 

“He’s armed, Derek. He could be a raider, what else would he be doing up here, in an abandoned Tower? He’s probably hiding from the Peacekeepers.” She nodded firmly, and swatted Derek on the arm. 

Stiles suppressed a snort, because, honestly? His Dad was the leader of the Peace Keepers. Stiles had been brought up on stories of arrests and crimes and solemn warnings to never, ever end up in a cell or his Dad would build him his own personal cells and probably die of shame along the way. 

Derek heaved a sigh, then stepped forward. His boots were heavy, and they clunked ominously against the stone floor. 

“What qualifies you to arrest me?” Stiles said, a little panicked now. He gripped his blade a little tighter, although his chances of beating Derek in a fight were pretty slim. He was a fast runner though, so maybe if he slipped past Derek before he got too close-

Derek was suddenly there, in his face, twisting his wrist until the dagger clattered to the floor. Derek bent both arms behind his back, and in one swift over, Stiles was in front of him, being marched towards the stairwell. He refused to cry out, but he aimed several kicks behind him, trying to hit shin, or a knee, or something that would make Derek slow down. 

“You’re not a guard.” He yelped, thrashing a little. He had enough sense not to fight too much, since he didn’t actually want to fall down the steps to his death. At least in a cell he could get his Dad to straighten this out. “You can’t arrest me, and besides, I’m supposed to be here, unlike you. I work here, you imbecile, let me go.” 

“I’m sure you’re very good at your job.” Derek said tonelessly, his breath ghosting across Stiles’ ear. Derek wasn’t that much taller than him, but he was muscled, and strong, whereas Stiles was lean and weedy. 

Stiles swore under his breath, and Jen gasped in the background. “Oh shut up.” He snapped, his temper flaring. 

_This is what I get for being a Beacon Keeper,_ Stiles thought miserably. _One of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen dragging me to my death. Dad is going to be beyond pissed_. 

 

 

Beacon Keeping was a very dull job, and yet it paid for the cost of living in Beacon Hills. Stiles actually liked living in Beacon Hills, so until he stumbled upon a crate of gold or a dragon’s hoard, he was going to have to continue being a Beacon Keeper. 

One good thing about Beacon Keeping, was that the Beacon was on the highest peak of the green hills surrounding the Kingdom, built into an abandoned tower that was still abandoned, despite the fact that it could probably be used as an academy for the commoners, or at the very least, a storage unit. 

Still, it had a spectacular view. 

He could see the rolling hills, the livestock being herded over each one by weary farmers. He could see the Academy, where his best friend and brother, Scott McCall was training to be a Guard of Honour, along with Allison Argent and Isaac Lahey. 

He could see the Mayor’s office, where his other friend, Lydia Martin, ran the entire town, despite the fact that there was already a Castle, and a Queen, and a Royal Family to run the Kingdom. 

He could even see down into the streets of Common Grounds, where each rickety house creaked and swayed in the spring breeze. Children sprinted across uneven flagstones, taunting each other and laughing. 

He could see the Royal Castle, their servant’s quarters, the giant courtyard that hosted theatres every fortnight. 

And he had seen everything up close, without his Tower to help him. He had sprinted across the hills with Scott, scaring sheep and cattle into fleeing. He had snuck into the Academy to visit his friends, only getting kicked out in the early hours of the morning. That was a common occurrence, actually. 

Stiles had been dragged into the Mayor’s Office before, lending a hand to Lydia whenever she requested (ordered) it. 

He had grown up in Common Grounds, walked the streets every day, gone to sleep each night in one of the rickety little houses. 

He had spent his entire life, all nineteen years of it, growing up in Beacon Hills, surveying it from the Tower and he had never once set foot inside the courtyard, nor seen the castle up close. 

Until now. 

“Why are we going in here?” Stiles squeaked, as the doors to the courtyard swung open with a grinding noise. 

“Because this is where I live.” Derek said gruffly, hauling him forward, and shit. 

“You’re the Prince.” Stiles said weakly, the words falling off his tongue, which felt heavy and suffocating. Jen let out another irritating giggle, obviously delighted with Stiles’ realisation. He took a short, panicked breath, and then straightened up as best he could whilst being restrained. He was not going to fall apart; he had done absolutely nothing to warrant an arrest. 

Except mouth off to the Crown Prince and his girl, he added silently, mentally punching himself in the head repeatedly. He had no idea why he hadn’t it put it together sooner. Derek might not have been the rarest of names, but paired with the wealthy clothes, the fine physique and silent demeanour, it was pretty damn obvious. 

“Yes, he’s the Prince.” Jen chirped, striding past them. “He’s the Crown Prince of Beacon Hills, and you threatened him with a dagger.” 

Stiles snorted. “I doubt even a cannon could threaten Derek, let alone my butter knife.” He shot back, but the woman ignored him. He tripped up the steps to the castle. It was a huge building, sturdy and strong, with several turrets and a silk scrap of flag flying high. It was overwhelming, but only in size. Other than that, it was just a building. A very large, building that he was being shoved into.

“Careful with the goods.” Stiles barked, as Derek manhandled him down several corridors. In any other situation, he probably wouldn’t mind being manhandled by someone like this guy, but this was getting ridiculous. “I thought Royals were supposed to be kind to their people.” 

“I don’t count thieves and criminals as my people.” Derek grunted. 

“Then you’re a shaping up to be a pretty shit King.” Stiles retorted, before Derek loosened his grip and flung him bodily through the nearest set of doors, which were open, thankfully. Stiles staggered into the room, tripping and landed in a heap, sprawled across the floor. His arms ached from the rough treatment, and now his knees were throbbing from the collision, but he clambered to his feet. 

“My apologies for the intrusion.” Derek announced loudly, before Stiles could get a word out. He whirled around, and gaped. There were two thrones at the end of the room, and two people sat in them, surrounded by a small group of important looking people. “But we came across an outsider, and it seemed appropriate to bring him here.” 

“Apology accepted.” Queen Talia said, a small smile gracing her face. Jennifer had been dressed to the nines, and yet she had nothing on the woman in front of him. She was radiant, with long hair and a kind face, a regal set to her shoulders. Her clothes were simple, and yet they framed her perfectly. 

Stiles stammered something incoherent, accidentally drawing the attention of the group. He winced, and then his eyes widened as they landed on those of a fierce red-headed woman. 

Lydia Martin strode forward, one hand on her hip and the other clasped around a sheaf of parchment. Her tunic was embroidered with the symbols for the Mayor, and a silver chain dripped off of her shoulders. She frowned, reached him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” She said softly, eyes narrowed. Stiles had never felt more fond of his friend in that moment, especially when he heard Jen make a choking sound. Stiles half-hoped she really had choked, on her own tongue. 

“I’m fine.” He said quietly, attempting a smile. In truth, he was a little overwhelmed. Lydia seemed to recognise this before she nodded crisply, and turned to face the people in attendance. Stiles recognised PeaceKeeper Parrish, and Danny, both of whom were highly respected in his Dad’s force. 

“I was unaware that you mingled with outsiders, Mayor Martin.” King Andrew boomed loudly, and Stiles could see a grin playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“I do not.” Lydia affirmed, head held high. 

Jen scoffed. “And yet you are clearly overly familiar with this common thief.” 

Lydia sent her a sharp look, and Talia cleared her throat. Her expression became less kind as she looked at Jen, and Stiles watched the younger woman curl in on herself. “And what exactly did he steal, Lady Blake?”

Jen said nothing, her eyes fixed on the floor, although she glanced at Derek expectantly. Derek sighed heavily. 

“He stole nothing, Mother.” Derek admitted. “Jennifer simply came to that conclusion based on his appearance, and the fact that he was less than polite.” 

“Is that so?” Talia mused. She turned her gaze to the face her audience. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but do you think we could reconvene this council at a later date? It looks as if we have some business to attend to here.” She smiled apologetically at the rest of them, who dispersed with good-natured grumbles. Danny shot Stiles a wink as he passed, and Parrish offered him a stern look that gave way to a worried frown. Stiles groaned internally as they exited; his Dad would know everything within the hour. 

“At least you’re too old to be confined to your room.” Lydia whispered, smirking at him. Her hand shifted from his shoulder to his forearm, and she leaned in conspiratorially as the room emptied. “That’s Jennifer Blake, the Princess from the foreign City. She’s here to see if a match can be made with Derek, to ally the Kingdoms.” 

Stiles took all that in and eyed the two discretely. All of he could see of Derek was his back as he addressed his parents, but his posture was stiff, uncomfortable, and it only got worse as Jen sidled up to him. 

“It sounds to me as if this entire situation could have been avoided if you had not climbed this ruin.” Talia said gravely, and Derek shrugged noncommittally. He obviously wasn’t disagreeing. 

“It’s not a ruin.” Stiles blurted, before Lydia slapped her palm across his mouth. He flushed red as all eyes turned to him, barring Derek’s, who remained facing forward. 

“It certainly sounds abandoned.” King Andrew frowned in confusion, leaning forward. 

Lydia sighed, gripping his forearm more tightly as she marched him forward, until they were just a foot away from the dais. 

“Mayor Martin,” Talia spoke up, although her gaze remained on Stiles. “Perhaps you could provide an explanation, since you seem to know this young man. I trust your judgement.” 

Lydia nodded, and the tops of her cheeks flushed pink with pride. Stiles itched his nose to hide a grin. 

“This is Stiles Stilinski. He is not an outsider, or a commoner and he is definitely not a thief. Those are all preposterous conclusions.” Lydia glared at Jennifer, who ground her teeth together and looked away. 

“Stilinski.” The King murmured thoughtfully. “That sounds familiar.” 

“John Stilinski is the leader of the PeaceKeepers, I do believe.” Talia said, raising a surprised eyebrow. “Forgive me for saying so, but you do not look alike.” 

“No offense taken, Your Majesty.” Stiles nodded, smiling hesitantly. “I take more after my Mother.” 

Talia smiled, and Lydia continued. 

“His Father is a fine man, and a good PeaceKeeper, and I’m sure he wouldn’t let his only child grow to be a criminal.” Lydia said dryly. 

“And what of the Tower?”

“The Tower is the high post, where we keep the Beacon, in case of fires of raiders. Stiles is one of Beacon Hills’ very few Beacon Keepers, and he helps to keep an eye on the Kingdom.” 

“It’s not quite as glamorous as that.” Stiles said hastily, turning pink. “It’s quite dull at times, and I’m happy to do it, but there are no heroics involved. It’s just a watch job, really.” He trailed off, then raised his eyes to the King and the Queen. 

“Very well, Master Stilinski.” Talia said, standing up. Stiles choked on air at the title, and it was Lydia’s turn to hide a grin. “I believe an apology is in order, and you shall receive it in good time, once certain matters have been dealt with. For now, you are free to leave, although if you wish to take tours at any point then do not hesitate to ask.” She smiled, and Stiles stammered. 

“Th-thank you, Your Grace.” Grace seemed more fitting than Majesty, for some inexplicable reason. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” He did have some manners.   
Lydia led him from the hall, and Stiles only glanced once or twice at Derek on the way out, although the Prince didn’t look his way. 

 

 

Stiles was off-duty for the next few days, which meant he spent half a day in bed, and the rest of his time off wandering about looking for something to do. He felt like a sheep, bored and a bit lost without his tower. He half-expected to start bleating any minute soon. 

He did bleat, sort of, when he opened the door to put out the milk bottles and instead collided with Prince Derek’s fist. 

“Damn it,” Stiles swore, clutching his forehead. The milk bottles clattered to the ground at his feet. “I thought we’d already established my innocence! What is wrong with you?” He eyed Derek accusingly, and Derek lowered his fist, his face blank. 

“I was about to knock.” The man explained, shifting on his feet.

“Are you so offended by doors that you have to punch them? Because that was quite a knock.” Stiles bent to inspect the milk bottles, which were thankfully unbroken. There was a fine for each smashed bottle, and Stiles had paid more than his fair share over the years. “I’m not bending to kiss your feet, by the way, in case you were getting ideas.” Stiles added, and straightened up to face Derek’s glare. 

“I’m not a complete asshole.” Derek argued. His hands twitched in the air near his hips, like he was looking for pockets to hide them in. His shirt was tight, not that Stiles was complaining, and a perfect shade of blue, but there was no pockets in sight. 

“I’d take your word for it, but I don’t trust anything you say. Plus, I don’t really care.” Stiles shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. His heart beat a little faster in his chest, as he abruptly remembered that he was mouthing off to the Crown Prince. It was hard to say why exactly he kept forgetting Derek’s status, since he didn’t exactly look like a plain old citizen of Beacon Hills. 

“My Mother sent me to formally apologize on behalf of the Hale Family, and to invite you and your family for dinner next week, on the Feast of Eve.” Derek took a deep breath, obviously bracing himself for something. “I apologize for my actions, and those of Lady Blake.” 

Stiles gaped at the Prince, before snapping his mouth shut. Derek was stiff, unyielding, and there was a tic in his jaw that betrayed him. It was kind of amusing. 

“Okay.” Stiles said. “Don’t think I didn’t miss the lack of the words ‘I’m sorry’, but I’ll let it go, since that obviously hurt to say.” He grinned wickedly. “Can’t have our future King break before he even ascends the throne.” 

Derek’s eyes were the only thing on his body that looked capable of moving. Stiles entertained the idea of poking him to see if he snapped in half, but the man’s death stare persuaded him to keep his hands to himself. 

“If that’s all,” Stiles drawled, stepping back from the door. He felt like a bit of an asshole, but the couldn’t bring himself to care too much, not when Derek obviously didn’t either. 

“It’s not.” Derek bit off, grinding his teeth. 

Stiles waited, half inside his house, undeniably curious. 

“You said something, while I was escorting you to the Castle.” Derek finally offered. Stiles spluttered indignantly at the word ‘escorting’, but let it go as he racked his brain. 

“I say a lot of things every day, and none of them are particularly memorable for me. You’ll have to enlighten me.” Despite that being true, Stiles had a feeling that he knew which particular insult had stuck with Derek. 

Derek inhaled deeply, and then let it all out in one miserable sigh. It took Stiles by surprise and he leaned forward, stepping a little into Derek’s space. 

“You said I would be a shitty King.” 

It was the most vulnerable sentence he had ever heard, and Stiles couldn’t bring himself to make a snappy retort. Instead, he tilted his head to the side, regarding the Prince in front of him, the man in front of him. 

“I said you’re shaping up to be a shitty King, not that it was a certainty.” Stiles said slowly. 

“Like there’s a difference.” Derek barked. 

“There is actually.” Stiles insisted. “It means you’ve got a chance to not be a shitty King.”

Derek frowned, his mouth a thin line. “How?” He asked, through gritted teeth. 

“Well for starters, stop acting like its killing you to ask for help. I get the feeling you don’t do it that often, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start now.” Stiles said dryly. 

“I don’t normally need help with anything.” 

“And second, try not to be an arrogant bastard.” 

“Like you’re one to talk.” 

“Talking happens to be a talent of mine, actually. As does helping people.” 

Derek stopped, his mouth open around a retort. “What?” 

“I’ll help you,” Stiles shrugged. “If you ask me nicely.” 

Derek blinked. “What can you do to help me?” 

“You won’t know if you don’t ask.” 

Derek blinked again, eyes blank. Stiles started to close the door, stepping back into his house. 

“Okay.” 

He stopped. “Pardon?” 

“I need your help.” 

Stiles felt his mouth drop open and coughed to hide it, grabbing his coat from the peg by the door. “Technically, that was a statement, not a question, but I’ll help you anyway because you, my friend, are in desperate need of some Stilinski wisdom.” 

“Perhaps I should have gone to your father then.” 

Stiles mock-laughed, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it, tucking the key into one of the deep pockets of his coat. “You’re a funny man, Prince Hale.” 

“Yes,” Derek deadpanned. “And I’m also eager to learn, so get on with it.” 

Stiles managed a genuine laugh this time, and Derek’s answering smile warmed something in his chest, even if it was directed at the streets in front of them. 

 

“I didn’t ask for a tour, Stiles.”

They were in the back alleys, near the Crook and Stiles was taking his sweet time because how often would he get to say that he’d been on a walk with Derek Hale? Not very often, that was the answer. 

“The tour is part of the lesson.” Stiles flapped a dismissive hand, then fixed Derek with a dry look. “And it’s not as if you don’t need it.” 

Derek let out a frustrated sigh. “I just don’t understand how this is supposed to help me become a good leader.” 

“All in good time.” Stiles said cheerfully, patting Derek’s shoulder, and then removing his hand quickly. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Derek said gruffly, after a moment of silence. “My actions up on the Tower were unacceptable, and-”

“It’s fine.” Stiles said quickly. “You didn’t actually hurt me, I’m stronger than I look.” 

Derek huffed, but didn’t argue. 

“I think we should head to the Crook.” Stiles said awkwardly, trying to fill the uncomfortable silence. He didn’t deal well with silence when others were around, especially tense ones such as these. “Do you know the blacksmith?” 

“Why would I know the blacksmith?” 

Stiles rolled his eyes, then marched Derek towards the Crook. Stiles often referred to it as a ‘grease bucket’, because the building was shaped like an upside down bucket, and every surface was covered in grease and coal dust. Derek raised an eyebrow when Stiles explained his reasoning, and Stiles blushed, crossing his arms defensively before ducking inside. 

“Good Afternoon!” He called, unbuttoning his coat as the heat hit him. The place was always swelteringly hot, due to the three brick ovals full of fire lining the far wall. It was dark, and smoky, and Stiles loved it. 

They stayed for a full fifteen minutes before Stiles decided that a quick exit would probably be appreciated. Derek did not get along with Chris Argent, the main Blacksmith and Stiles honestly wasn’t sure who would win should they come to blows. 

“My thanks for the new dagger!” Stiles drew Derek out of the Crook, and out into the street. Ther were both sweaty, and Derek’s face was lined with anger. 

“He is an insolent man.” Derek snarled, stalking towards the end of the alley. “I don’t like him.” 

Stiles hooked his dagger into his belt, pleased with the weapon, then hurried after Derek. “Regardless, you needed to meet him.”

Derek shot him a doubtful look. 

“It’s true.” He insisted. “Look, that’s the man who makes the majority of your weapons. He’s the one who repairs the dents in your soldiers armour; he’s the one in charge of any and all shipments out or into the Kingdom. He’s essential to your rule, and even a strained relationship is better than no relationship at all.” 

Derek slowed down reluctantly, and looked thoughtfully at Stiles. “That was smart, I suppose.” 

“Thank you.” Stiles snorted, shaking his head. "I've been known to have my moments."

“No.” Derek stopped him with a hand to his arm. For some reason, Stiles felt hotter than he had in the grease bucket, but he didn’t shake off Derek’s touch. “It was smart, and logical. I would not have thought of it.” 

Stiles couldn’t speak, but he made some kind of noise in his throat and Derek quirked his lips in a small smile. “Was this your plan, then? Introduce me to all the important people in the Kingdom?” 

“It was more just to introduce you to the place you’re supposed to lead one day.” Stiles admitted. “I get the feeling that you don’t come past the courtyard often and that is not exactly conductive to running a Kingdom. You should know the people that live here, even if they aren’t ‘important’.” 

There was another tense silence as they stared at each other, although this one was not uncomfortable. The clock chimed then, in the centre of the town, and Stiles jumped. They averted eyes, and Derek frowned. There was a crease between his eyebrows that Stiles realised meant Derek was thinking hard about something. 

“I have to return to the Castle.” Derek said slowly. 

“Ah.” Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding with a small smile. He did not really want Derek to leave. 

“I’ll walk you home first though.” Derek added, his voice light and soft. Stiles turned his head to hide a smile, and they started walking. 

“I’d call your first lesson a success.” Stiles announced, as they reached his house. The light was on, which meant his Dad was home. Stiles eyed the front windows, but there were no nosy Peace Keepers peering through the drapes. Well, not that he could see anyway. 

“I’d hate to see what you would call a failure then.” 

“Oh, and I accept your invitation to dinner, although you may have to work on that apology a bit more. I’ll bring my Dad, and my brother, if that’s acceptable?” Scott wasn’t technically his brother, not by blood or marriage, but might as well have been. Besides, they both had high hopes for Stiles’ Dad and Scott’s Mum in the future, once they both stopped being oblivious. 

“I’ll send a written invitation with the details.” Derek answered, with a nod. He hesitated, but then stepped back as Stiles opened his door, which was indeed unlocked. His Dad would have some questions for him, no doubt. 

“I take my leave, then.” Derek gave him one last small smile, before striding away. 

Stiles sighed, leaning against the doorframe. He jumped as his Dad came up behind him, frowning in suspiciously. 

“Was that Prince Hale? Are you in some kind of trouble again?” 

“So doubtful of your only son.” Stiles denied, his eyes still on Derek. “He was just apologising for our previous encounter.” 

His Dad hummed, leaving to start dinner. 

Stiles watched Derek walk away, and when the man glanced back with a grin, Stiles had to admit, if only to himself, that he might have gotten himself into a bit more trouble than he had anticipated. 

He could live with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? I'm planning on writing a little bit more, maybe turn it into a series :) 
> 
> You can find me on pretty much everything as CoconutCranberries, and I take prompts on Tumblr! 
> 
> Thank you all!


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